


Oblivious

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: Oblivious Verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Feels, Everybody Wants Stiles, F/M, M/M, Oblivious Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: While Stiles prides himself on being witty, brave and smart, the good denizens of Beacon Hills are more apt to describe him as OBLIVIOUS! Especially, it seems, in matters of the heart!Or ... every time Stiles seems completely oblivious to the fact that he's being asked out!





	1. Isaac

* * *

Derek Hale officially hates the idea of social interaction. This is in no way a revelation or anything, but instead, a statement he finds himself having to make mentally at least once a week these days. The fact that he has emerged from his broken shell of a home to try and rejoin society in some way, is to blame. Long gone are the days when he could drive two towns over to run his errands. No, his Pack decided it would be best if he did everything within the confines of Beacon Hills so that he will no longer be looked at as the serial killing outsider. (The fact that he hasn't actually killed anything that wasn't hunter or supernatural related doesn't seem to factor into his image at all. Go figure.)

It is for this reason that he finds himself spending a Saturday afternoon at the store in town. This is not a taxing or challenging thing by any means, but it can be a bit annoying. Because people stare. They whisper and stink of confusion, fear, and so much arousal his nose burns with it. They are thrusting their opinions and their bodily responses on him and they don't even realize it. It's beginning to tear into his nerves, putting him on edge and making him jittery.

So, he allows his mind to wander to thoughts of his Pack to help block out some of his sensory reactions.

An Alpha is not always a parent. In some instances, as with his childhood, Pack is Family. But not always. Maybe it is this knowledge of what Pack CAN mean that leads him to consider Isaac his son. His firstborn through the Bite. (The horror show that was the Kanima will never count.) Because of this connection, he often finds himself looking out for the Beta. Any time he catches a hint of his scent or a stray word on the breeze, he is compelled to seek him out and check on him. 

It is because of this Alpha instinct that he stumbles across his Beta talking to Stiles, the 'token Pack human' as he is jokingly referred to. There is nothing inherently strange about Isaac and Stiles talking, as they have school, lacrosse, and friends in Common. 

There is nothing -common- about this conversation, though.

"S-Stiles?" Isaac nearly whispers the name of the human, voice cracking self deprecatingly as he tries to stare the smaller, shorter teen down. Just a month ago, the werewolf would have been more likely to flash teeth, claws, and eyes at the human than address him so familiarly. It warms the Alpha through and through to know that his Pack is getting along.

"Heya, Pup! What's up?" Stiles allows his handsome features to break out into a bright, beautiful smile that softens him, lightens him from within. He turns from the buggy he has been pushing, leaning against it sideways so that he can place his attention on Isaac without fully crowding him. Which again, warms the Alpha. Because Stiles knows. He understands. Isaac is damaged and just now managing to escape the powerful high of the Bite, and sometimes, it is best to give him your attention without facing him head on. It displays trust but it also gives a sense of privacy.

"I, uh .. I was hoping we could talk?" The werewolf shifts his weight from foot to foot, the dull, busted red basket hanging from his hand clacking gently against his knees as he tries to find some way to be comfortable in his own skin. Hmm, he'll have to talk to his beta about this, soon. He honestly thought Isaac had finally found a measure of confidence in himself.

"Oh, of course, dude." Stiles beams at him, nodding toward the display case of fresh vegetables. Isaac falls into step beside him as if it's the most natural thing ever, and maybe it is. They are, after all, packmates. They seem to have found a modicum of comfort with one another and his inner wolf is practically howling in joy. Because they are his two favorites. Sure, he's not -supposed- to have favorites, but he does. As stated, he considers Isaac his son in some regards, so of course he's his favorite of the wolves. And Stiles ... well, Stiles is Stiles and that's all that need be said about that. 

"So, what can I do for you, my man?" Stiles throws the words across his shoulder, grinning at the werewolf before he turns his attention to the vegetable display.

"I, uh .. well, I was thinking .. you haven't seen the newest marvel movie, have you?" The poor wolf's voice rises almost half an octave on the words thinking, marvel and you, causing a cracked tone to his words that would have practically begged for some of Stiles' patented snark only a month ago. Instead, the human points out a produce bag dispenser over Isaac's shoulder as he shakes his head.

"Nope, I totally haven't. I thought about asking every one, but I wasn't sure who would really want to go, you know?" The human wrinkles his nose while the wolf nearly drops the basket at his feet in his haste to help his friend. Once he has managed to set the thing down carefully, he whirls on his heels and almost lunges at the dispenser, yanking one of the long, thin produce bags out. He rushes back to Stiles, blowing into the bag to inflate it so that they can slip the vegetables inside. "Thanks, Pup!" 

Isaac goes beet red from the thanks, shifting uneasily on his feet before he practically shoves the filled bag into Stiles hands. Okay, yes, he definitely needs to talk to his beta. See if he can help tackle some of these nervous habits and self esteem issues.

"Really? You couldn't get Scott to go with you? And Erica really likes superheroes, too, and I think even Boyd will watch the movies." Stiles eyes widen at this information and it honestly looks as if Isaac has managed to hand him the best early Christmas present possible. It actually makes Derek grin, though he quickly looks around to make sure that no one is there to see it. At least, no one he knows.

"Oh wow, I didn't even -think- about Erica or Boyd! Scott, uhm .. he's busy with Allison, you know? Trying to get every thing back on track with her, so he, uh .. he doesn't really have time for me. Right now. It's cool." Both werewolves wrinkle their noses at the sudden assault of bitter lemon and sage sadness wafting off the human, but Isaac has the good grace not to mention the fact that he can smell just how not cool it is. Instead, he reaches an awkward hand out. Gently slides it up, over the curve of Stiles' shoulder and squeezes ever so gently. Derek is a little surprised to see Stiles reaching up to place his hand over that of the other teen for a brief moment before pulling away. "So, it's settled then! I will totally text everyone and see who wants to go. We can all hit it up tomorrow evening."

Isaac's eyes widen into large, confused puppy dog proportions when Stiles makes plans .. for the entire Pack .. to see the movie. Derek actually winces when he can smell the sour salt confusion and sage sadness of the werewolf. It takes a few seconds, but he understands. Isaac ... Isaac had been trying to ask Stiles -out-! On a date, not a pack gathering. He flinches deeper this time, shaking his head in sympathy. 

"I, uh .. that wasn't .. uh yeah, yeah .. sure. Sounds fun, Stiles. I'll, uhm .. I'll see you later, okay?" The poor teen wolf is blushing nearly to the roots of his hair, but Stiles isn't watching him. He's gathered another collection of produce and is forcing it clumsily into a produce bag.

"Alright, Isaac. I'll text you with the plans later. Have a good day, Pup!" Isaac whimpers a single time before he practically runs to a different section of the store. The Alpha -wants- to be angry. Wants to feel some small spark of paternal outrage on behalf of his pseudo-son, but he can't. Because Stiles wasn't rude, mean, condescending or anything else really negative toward Isaac. He had simply been .. oblivious. 

With a soft sigh, the Alpha turns and heads toward the check out counter to finish up his bit of shopping.


	2. Erica

* * *

As horrible as the Alpha finds most social interaction and places in which such take place, that is not true of the bookstore, Vellum. It's a wonderful little place tucked away at the edge of town. Much like the chain-stores, they have comfortable chairs and a wonderful coffee shop attached to it. In this one place, he can tuck up his feet, curl into himself, and read a good book without people side-eying him as if he is some out of place freak. 

At the moment, he is settled with his back pressed against the wall beside the bookshelves housing a bunch of clearance sale mystery novels that he would never give the time of day. It's just that, back here, he can cross his legs Indian style, lean up against the wall, and read as if he is in a world all his own. But, at the same time, he can find some strange comfort in the sounds of life brushing past him. 

He hikes up the Sanober Khan book that he purchased twenty minutes ago. A cardboard cup of sea salt caramel chai frappe is settled in front of him. The sweet, salty, and spicy mixture causes his nostrils to flare every few minutes and seems to settle something inside of him. Allows him to unclench a little bit as he immerses himself in the book of poetry.

_I want to be in love with you_

No sooner has he read those words, than he finds himself forced back to reality by the familiar humming bird flutter of a human heart instantly followed by the succulent scent of _friend .. pack .. ma_ \-- he shakes himself ruthlessly, eyes narrowed to half mast as he stretches his hearing a little beyond the human norm.

"Why are we here again, Stiles?" Erica's tired, bored voice cuts across Derek's senses, nearly drowning out the sounds of the human. It's not that surprising. The girl has a way of boasting her presence as best she can, an after effect of the Bite. Once she had power and instinct flowing through her veins, she had decided the best thing to do was advertise herself in ways she had never been able to before. 

He can almost hear the sound of Stiles rolling his eyes and he quickly lifts his book to hide the upturn of his mouth as it quirks into a charmed smile. 

_the same way I am in love with the moon_

He blinks, eyes widening a fraction when he spies those words once the book is lifted to hide behind. His fingers tighten against the pages as he battles down the reflex to throw the book as far across the store as he can. Those words haunt him instantly and he doesn't know why. They seem strangely profound and yet as if they could be a trap at the same time. He swallows thickly, hunching his shoulders to hide behind the book a little further.

"Because, Erica .. as I already told you. I need to find two books. The first book is 100 Love Sonnets by Pablo Neruda." Derek jolts, feels the book tumble from his hands to land in his lap. Why on -Earth- does Stiles want to buy a book of love poems? He has seen the boys book collection and nothing suggested that he liked poetry, let alone that of the sappy love variety. He sucks in a hoarse breath, reaching down to yank the book back up, into his hands. 

"And the second?" She asks, her tone suggesting boredom, but where Stiles has only his human senses to rely on, Derek obviously has more. Which is why he can tell that she is apprehensive, nervous and a little .. sad? He chews at his bottom lip, glancing at the page before his eyes flutter closed so that he can listen better. 

_with the light shining out of its soul_

Stiles .. doesn't answer right away. His heart beat ratchets up a notch, the smell of sweat and anxiety curling across the store and settling in Derek's nose until he feels nearly sick with it. Why in the world would a book make him feel so out of sorts? It's not as if he could be after anything explicit or overt in a bookstore like this. So why the spike in emotion?

"It's, uh ... it's a paperback. The Madness Vase, by Andrea Gibson. It's poetry, too." Derek's breath falters for a moment before he draws one in so quick and heavy, so sharp, that he can feel Erica become a little more aware of her surroundings. He barely has time to hope that she won't scent him before she is shuffling closer to the sound of Stiles erratic heartbeat.

"Wow. So, like, tailored to you, huh?"

"Ha ha, Catwoman. Lets just .. get this and get out." Stiles sounds more twitchy and on edge than usual and it's doing Derek in. His fingers are starting to pucker the pages of the clutched book and he wants to fume about it. Wants to blame the human that is telegraphing every thing about his mood swing as if he had a neon, blinking sign in front of him. 

But at the same time, The Madness Vase. That makes him want to wrap the boy up in his tattered leather jacket and promise that whatever is going on, the Pack can protect him. Help him. Somehow make it all better. (False advertisement, but he cannot help but want to -help- where the human is concerned. 

"Alright, Batman. Don't worry. We'll find your books, come on." He can hear the rustle of fabric, the scraping of cloth and he can almost imagine Erica looping her arm through Stiles' to follow him through the stacks in search of the poetry section. 

His own heart skips a beat and then continues to trip on wildly because the poetry section is directly in his line of sight. This presents him with a but of a conundrum; does he stay where he is hunched, book propped in front of his face in hopes that they will not see him but still capable of watching his packmates (stiles), or does he get up and move ... maybe even leave the bookstore altogether?

His first decision is to take a moment and just relish in the fact that his toughest dilemma at the moment is whether or not he should be a bit of a creeper. Life feels comfortable and good.

In the end, he tucks himself a little lower, hunkers down further on the floor and lifts the book to cover his face again. Sure, it means he cannot watch Stiles and Erica, but he can still track their scents, listen to them. That will have to do for now.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about, Catwoman?" Stiles murmurs softly, tone slightly distracted as he moves through the three rows of books. Erica has abruptly stopped moving, the soft click of her heels drawing to an instant top, her heart beat hammering against her rib cage. Derek finds himself tensing, forcefully reminding himself that she cannot have a seizure without the introduction of something like Kanima venom to her system. His poor beta is not about to seize in the middle of the store and relive the nightmare she wished to escape through the Bite.

"Oh, uhm .." Erica's confidence melts away, replaced by a sense of dread that makes Derek's stomach drop out in sympathy for her. Whatever is going on here, it seems to have her twisted up in metaphorical knots. "Right. So, I know that you have a few more errands to run and every thing, and I really don't mind coming with." A soft click draws Derek's attention, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline when he sees the way that she's tapping the edge of her heel against the floor. What on Earth has her so damn nervous??

"Aw, thanks, Catwoman. That's so sweet of you! I really do hate having to do all of this running around on my own. Unfortunately, Isaac is busy and, well, Scott is too." Again, the mention of the boy's best friend brings with it a sense of sadness that is nearly overwhelming. Derek is seized with the desire to run off and track the idiot down. Throw him into a wall or just drag his claws down his face. Something, -anything- to damage the teen wolf the way he has damaged the poor human.

"Well, glad to be your -third- choice, Batman. You really know how to make a girl feel all tingly and special." She drawls the words out like a joke, a jib, but Derek knows better. Her scent is riddled by brittle pain, assumingly at the thought that she might just be an after thought. No, Stiles would never treat her like that.

"Oh, as if." The teen snorts, rolling his eyes as he grabs one of the books he was looking for off the shelf in front of him. "None of my friends are -numbered-, Erica, and you damn well know it. I just know that you don't really like the domesticity of running errands. You won't even run your own, remember?" Derek narrows his eyes, watches the way Erica's eyes widen and her lips twitch sheepishly at the edges. 

"Oh. Right." She chuffs and actually giggles. Not a seductive, false, or coy giggle, but a true one. Huh. Maybe Derek should reward Stiles for this? Any thing that causes the she-wolf to express herself so truly deserves something nice. "So, to the point then?" Stiles makes a soft sound of consent even as his long, slender fingers wrap around the edge of a book and almost tenderly pulls it from the shelf. "I was wondering .. if you might like to go brab a bite to eat with me?" There is such a note of unadulterated -hope- in her voice that Derek immediately flinches away and shoves his book up, over his face. 

He cannot force himself to stop listening, but he can at least not watch. Because he doesn't want to see her get turned down ... but he also doesn't want to see Stiles accept. 

"That's really considerate of you, Catwoman. Oh, I know! I'm supposed to meet Isaac and Dad for lunch. You can totally tag along with me. It'll be great! I'm sure Isaac would love the chance to hang out with you, and you and Dad get along sort of .. freakishly well." He chuckles at that, apparently finding a wellspring of amusement in the thought of Erica and the Sheriff getting along. Truthfully, Derek feels the same amount of amusement in the fact that the Sheriff has taken so well to the various members of the Pack. (Himself especially, though he tries hard not to dwell on that.)

In the very next breath, Derek is choking on the scents of disappointment, anger, and embarrassment. To the point that he bolts upward, nearly kicking over his frappe in his scramble to uncross his legs and prepare to run. Because every instinct in him is saying that he needs to run. Preferably -away- from the pissed off she-wolf. However, he won't. No, he's actually preparing to run -toward- Erica in case he needs to keep her from wolfing out and attacking the human. 

"Huh." the single sound tumbles from her wickedly red lips, her hands curling into fists furled against her hips as she regards Stiles. Derek is already pushing himself up to a half crouch when her scent changes. All of the anger and sadness are replaced by a simple acceptance that bowls the Alpha wolf over. He collapses back onto his backside, colliding lightly with the wall behind him. He has never seen one of his betas excercise that amount of control and he is practically glowing with pride in her, but he cannot just waltz up and say it, can he? "Sure, I'd love to have lunch with you guys. Come on, lets go check out." She reaches out to thread her arm through Stiles' once again, tugging him toward the front of the store.

He's going to buy her clothes. That thought pops into his mind as he is gathering his things and preparing to make his escape. The gift will be two-fold. It will be his way of rewarding her good behavior without having to tell her that he saw, and it will help boost her confidence after being rejected by the adorably oblivious human. (Yes, he finds Stiles complete lack of understanding that he has been asked out -twice- now, rather adorable.) He stealthily picks his way through the stacks and to the front of the store, slipping out while Erica and Stiles are busy checking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter .. Greenberg. Sort of. -shifty eyes-


	3. Greenberg

* * *

I am a good Alpha. I am a -good- Alpha. 

Derek finds himself repeating this mantra over and over in his head. Reminding himself that these days, he is a good, competent Alpha. Because of this, he is more involved in the lives of his Pack. For this reason, he is currently settled in the bleachers at the lacrosse field, halfheartedly watching his packmates practice. He is leaning back, his aviators pulled down over his eyes to combat the glare of the late afternoon sun. 

Down on the field, Isaac and Danny, and Scott, are running suicides while Coach Finstock screams nonsense at them. Honestly, Derek cannot even be bothered to listen to what he's screaming at his Pack because it is all harmless drivel. It always has been. He blows a tired breath toward the sky, his eyes having slid toward some innocuous cloud formation in the distance. If he stared long enough, he could probably distinguish some sort of organic shape but he doesn't really care about that, either. It's just another way to pass the time.

"Derek ... Derek Hale?" The sound of a rough voice drags him from his thoughts. He jerks to a sitting position, fingers already yanking his sunglasses off as he looks around for the source of his name. It takes him a moment to place the man standing a few feet away, a few bench seats below him. He's roughly four inches shorter than him, with sandy, blond tipped hair that is gelled back. He's dressed in capri pants and a tight t-sirt that shows off the fact that he's a powerhouse of muscle. There aren't many humans that could intimidate Derek Hale by looks alone .. but this guy does. In fact, were he not a born werewolf and an Alpha, he'd probably be a bit on edge when faced with this human.

At least, until he gets some whiff of something familiar, though long since buried. He jumps to his feet and stumbles down so that he is standing on an even footing with the shorter, larger man. 

"Uh, yeah ... it's been a few years, Greenberg." Awkwardly, the Alpha holds a hand out, exchanging a polite handshake with the guy he used to be friends with back in High School. 

"Yeah, it has, man. I heard you were back in town. Just got back myself." The human turns, leaning against the railing for a moment as he smiles at him. Derek is trying so hard to remember what it used to be like. What it was like when they were on the basketball team together. When they used to hang out in the cafeteria and crack jokes. But he comes up blank, basically. Beyond some vague memory of a name and past association, there is nothing there.

"Yeah, been back for almost a year now." He flashes a bit of a smile, the absurdly fake smile that everyone seemed to think was charismatic and flirty, but means absolutely nothing to him. Greenberg seems to light up for a moment, his scent shifting into something of amusement and playfulness. That change in scent is enough to make Derek take a step back and move to reclaim his spot. "It was nice seeing you again." The words are stiff, as polite as he can manage to dismiss the human he has no desire to catch up with.

Slowly, Greenberg straightens and nods. Mumbles some halfhearted good bye before he turns and heads to exit the bleachers.

"Where the hell is Bilinski! He's officially thirty minutes late!" The hoarse scream from the coach snaps Derek's gaze back toward the field. He had known that Stiles hadn't been there at the beginning because he seeks the human out on instinct. (He is protective of Stiles because he's a human in his Pack. That is all.) But, he had assumed that while he was letting his mind wander, the teen had taken to the field and begun to practice along Scott and his Pack. Hearing that he's not there has Derek grinding his teeth and forcing his palms against his hips in hopes of keeping his claws from coming out. 

He also vehemently reminds himself that there is no danger at the moment. Stiles is alright.

"Sorry, Coach! Harris gave me detention again!" Derek releases a pent breath he did not realize he was holding at the sound of Stiles hollering from beside the bleachers. He manages to sink back into the half leaning position he has held through most of practice, suddenly feeling tired and worn out. All of this worry is beginning to take it's toll. He slides the aviators back into place in just enough time to hear Stiles make a loud, breathless omph! sound as he collides with something solid. 

At the side of the bleachers, Greenberg and Stiles both rebound from the obvious collision that has just taken place. Greenberg's hand shoots out, curls around the edge of Stiles' shoulder to balance him as they exchange blushes and smiles.

"Oh crap, I am -so- sorry! I know, I really need to watch where I'm going. This is, sadly, the 16th time I've managed to run into someone just this week. I'm honestly thinking about taking out collision insurance on myself. Though, given the fact that just about every one in this town knows me, I'm sure no one would be willing to take on that policy. Oh my god, will someone please tell me to shut up!?" The Alpha's hands fly up to cover his mouth when the words instinctively begin to bubble out. 

He squints into the distance, barely able to hold back a smirk when he sees the way Greenberg is staring at Stiles. He has a glazed, far away look in his eyes. Every thing about his stance screams overwhelmed and in awe ... and aroused. When that spicy citrus scent of **_WANT_** hits Derek's nose, he begins to growl deep in his throat. From the corner of his eye, he sees Isaac and Scott stumble on the field when they pick up the threatening sound, but he can't make himself -stop-.

"I .. well, you're really adorable when you ramble." Greenberg blurts the words out, the sudden intensity of his blush testament to the fact that he hadn't actually meant to say those words. And while Stiles blushes in return, his scent subtly changes to that of discomfort. The growl increases in volume, though it's still too low for human ears to pick up. "You must be Stiles. My younger brother talks about you." The tone is sweet and a little but flirtatious, but Stiles' scent becomes even thicker with discomfort and the Alpha is having to fight the desire to rush over and pull Greenberg away from him. Anything to erase that scent from his friend. Because he understands. Every time some stranger has approached Stiles and started up a conversation, it's pretty much been a bad thing. It meant some new threat in town or some big change to his young life and Derek fights off a sense of guilt and sadness. He has brought so much crap into the poor teen's life.

"Uhm .. okay? I mean, like no offense or anything, dude, but you seem to know me and I don't have the first damn clue who you are. I'm sure you see the problem here, right?" Stiles shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, obviously on edge and ready to get the hell out of this conversation, though Greenberg seems oblivious to the effect he's having on the teen.

"Right! Damn, I am a total moron. Sorry about that." He holds a hand out to Stiles, who stares at it for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. Greenberg seems to hold on for a few seconds longer than is strictly acceptable. "I'm Gordon Greenberg. My younger brother, Gerry, is in school with you. He, uh .. he talks about you a lot. Says you're really funny and cute. He definitely got the cute part right." Stiles blinks, his features slowly flowing into something blank and hard to read .. if you're a stranger. Derek, though ... he can see it. And smell it. Hear it, even. 

His scent has become damn near cloying with confusion, discomfort, and the one that makes no sense at all, -anger-! Derek stiffens, managing to glance toward the field where Danny has been pulled close to Scott and Isaac. Both wolves are practically vibrating with their reactions to Stiles' emotions and have apparently pulled Danny close to try and keep him protected. (Even though there is no obvious trouble or danger, the wolves can sense Stiles' distress and that always translates to trouble as far as instinct goes.) 

"Greenberg. Right. I find it really -hilarious- that someone who pushes me into lockers, calls me names, and generally tries to make my life a living hell thinks I'm funny and cute. In fact, that sounds like some real douchebag pigtail pulling to me, dude." Stiles is deadpan through the first part and utterly snarky through the second because this? This is definitely more than Stiles is willing to handle, apparently. Because he's gone stiff and rigid, even the human in front of him should be able to see the negative vibes wafting off of him. 

"What the hell? Ger's been doing -what-!?" Greenberg growls the words and the Alpha wants to laugh. Out loud. Freely and cruelly at his attempt at the sound. Seriously, he's as intimidating as a puppy. Hell, STILES is more intimidating with that kind of growl. (Derek will not admit it .. he won't .. but he goes a little hot and tight all over whenever Stiles growls, snarls, or whimpers. Seriously. It's becoming a little bit of a problem!) "I'll kick the little jerk's ass." Greenberg sounds so sincere that Stiles actually draws back a bit in surprise. His scent mellows out a little further but it's still not back to it's normal spectrum. "I'm really sorry he's acted that way, Stiles. I mean, with how he talks about you, it's obvious he has a bit of a crush. He's always been a little .. emotionally stunted, though. In fact, he sounds downright too immature for you." The words have become flirtatious again and almost coy. 

Annndddd .. hello fangs! Derek's jaws snap shut, teeth grinding together as his fangs begin to shred his lips. His claw-free hand snaps up, over his mouth to keep any of the gore from being seen as he struggles to rein his wolf in. (Claw! Bite! Eviscerate! Save our packmate!) 

"Uhm, I really don't think you need to threaten bodily harm to your kin for me, dude." Stiles actually manages to chuckle, a little bit of a blush across his gorgeous features as he shuffles a foot across the ground. Gordon takes that opportunity to lean a little closer to the teen, breathing him in. Studying him. And now the Alpha's claws are out, too. He's trying to decide which vulnerable spot he wants to go for first; gouge the creeps eyes out so that he can't look at Stiles ever again ... cut his nose off so that he cannot scent him ... or maybe just lop all of his appendages off so that he can never touch him in any way.

"Well, needed to or not, I would." Greenberg shifts himself enough that he is just on the edge of Stiles' personal space, and Derek shoots another look to the field when he hears Scott and Isaac both start to growl threateningly. Okay, he started this. He was the first to identify Greenberg as a threat to the Pack, and the two betas are picking up on his discomfort. But he can't -stop-. Even now, he is almost fully wolfed out, in a -very- public place, all because some asshole is standing too close to his friend. "You know, every thing that Ger's told me about you .. I'd really like to get to know you better, Stiles. How about we --"

"Excuse me." Stiles suddenly pipes up. His eyes have gone wide, his gaze directed somewhere over Greenberg's shoulder. Derek tracks the stare and realizes that Stiles is watching Scott, Isaac, and Danny with concern. "I really need to get to practice. It was interesting meeting you Graham." Stiles dismisses him instantly, all pretense of friendliness gone in his worry over his Pack and Scott. He side steps Greenberg, who's eyes have gone impossibly wide and who stinks so thoroughly of embarrassment that Derek feels sorry for him. For a fleeting second. Because the bastard had been hitting on Stiles!

"It's, uh .. Gordon, Actually .. not that you care .. because you're ignoring me while I'm trying to ask you out. Right, then." Greenberg hefts a sigh and turns, sulking away from the bleachers. The Alpha cannot hide his smirk, once he has discreetly wiped the blood from his mouth. He waves at Isaac before he nods toward the edge of the bleachers and takes off. There's no real reason for him to stick around for the rest of their practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, basically think of Gordon as looking like Zac Efron a la Baywatch.


	4. Boyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get this one up yesterday, as I had hoped I would! However, there should be at least one other chapter today!

* * *

Derek will never get used to pack dinners at the Stilinski household. There is nothing overtly strange or disquieting about the place, but there is an inherent sense of discomfort for the poor Alpha. Because it is not a house, it's a -home- and every thing about the palce is a testament to that fact. The photos on the walls, the inescapable scent of both Stilinski men permeating the very wood, even the soft sounds of a settling house that speak of it being well used.

On some level, Derek hates it. Because it is a painful, gut wrenching reminder of every thing he has lost. Of family-pack that could room together, roam together, or find little moments to be alone. This place does not necessarily smell of life without complication or full time contentment. But it does smell of love, happiness, and speaks of a family that will always be there for each other no matter what. 

He misses these things so very much.

However, he is also somewhat happy to be here. The Stilinskis are pack, chosen family, and he's okay with that! They made a conscious decision to become a part of the supernatural world. It fills him with warmth and contentment to know that each of these people, wolf and human alike, have found happiness in their place within the pack. 

"Derek." The Alpha tenses as little as possible, trying so hard not to show that the Sheriff has managed to sneak up on him. He may never get used to dinners here, but it is obvious he has dropped his guard enough that the human could get within five feet of him without his senses ramping up into overdrive.

"John." He flashes a faint smile that may as well be a full blown grin for how much emotion he usually shows. The Sheriff seems to understand this truth, because his eyes widen slightly before he grins lightly. "Thank you for inviting me over."

"Well, I couldn't exactly invite the Stiles' entire Pack and neglect to invite his Alpha." There is some strange flicker of amusement in the human's eyes. Along with a shadow of something that Derek cannot quite parse. Not that he is struggling too hard or anything. His mind is still stuck on the words _his Alpha_. He has been labeled Stiles Alpha by others, Stiles included, but each time is like the first. It leaves him feeling a little breathless, warmer than usual, and sort of dizzy. 

"No, I suppose not. Stiles would've just hunted me down and dragged me here, anyway." He snorts at the thought, rolling his eyes lightly. (Nothing like the epic eye rolls that he often delivers when the teen is acting the fool.) The Sheriff tips his head back and guffaws at the words, head bobbing in fervent agreement.

"That he would have. My son has always been stubborn and strong willed. Once he has set his mind on something, there's just one outcome; he'll get his way." The Sheriff wrinkles his nose, shaking his head with undeniable fondness before he forces himself to focus. "So, can I get you anything?" Once Derek has shook his head no, the Sheriff dismisses himself to go and mingle with the rest of the Pack.

The Alpha watches as the man claps Danny on the shoulder, laughs at something Lydia says, ruffles Isaac's hair, rolls his eyes at something Erica says, and offers a friendly nod in Boyd's direction. This is how it should be! A laid back family environment. 

After a few moments of hesitation, Derek heads toward the door that leads into the back yard, stretching before he moves to lean against a tree. It's a nice, cool night. He can breathe out here. Can feel himself settling back into his skin, rather than feeling as if it has been stretched too thin over his frame. As if he is a second from shifting for no particular reason.

"Stiles." Boyd's stoic, even voice shocks Derek out of his thoughts. He exhales a slow, steady breath before he allows his head to roll to the side. He can see Stiles' bedroom window from here. The curtain is drawn, the light shining through showing off the silhouettes of Boyd and Stiles. He cannot think of a single time Boyd has ever had a reason to be in Stiles room. He doesn't hang out with the human the way that Isaac and Erica sometimes do. He doesn't have any homework to work on with him, the way that Danny does. In fact, beyond the time that Boyd sold the use of the ice rink keys to Stiles, he cannot think of a time they interacted that much. Huh. That should definitely change.

"Oh! Wow. Boyd is in my room. This is truly a first! Every other member of the Pack has been in here before, except for you. So! Welcome to my humble place. What can I do for you, dude?" Stiles voice is an even timbre, but there's something there. A nervousness that is uncalled for. A sense of unease that sours his scent and leaves Derek wanting to pace in the back yard. However, knowing that Boyd is -right- there and might detect any movement despite the drawn curtain, he remains as still as a statue. (Lord knows Stiles has accused him of being one often enough.)

"Cute." The stoic teen sighs the word, the bulkier silhouette shifting nervously. Where it is easy to picture a fidgeting Stiles, it is virtually impossible to envision Boyd. He does not flail, fidget, shift, or otherwise show any movement based off of discomfort in his day-to-day actions, so Derek can't really picture it the way he would Stiles. It makes him feel unsteady, not being able to imagine what this exchange must look like. "Can we talk?"

Stiles' shadow shifts, arms flailing minutely as he rocks up, onto the balls of his feet. Derek is very familiar with this action. It screams curiosity, but is also tinged in anxiety. It's the kind of movement he makes when one of two things are expected by him; bad news or an imminent threat. 

"Well, I mean, technically we already are talking? Or, well, I guess I'm doing most of the talking as per usual and you're kind of just standing there. Looming. Have you been taking lessons from our Alpha? Because I gotta say, while he still corners the market on looming and lurking, you are definitely an up and coming protege. Though, somehow, even more quiet than he is. How is that even possible? Well, yeah, its obviously possible, because there are people that -can't- talk, but he really does seem to take the whole selective mute thing to a whole new level." Derek reaches up, shoves his palms against his face and presses hard enough that his eyes and cheeks ache for a second. 

So, he has no idea how to take this current conversation. Because Stiles calling him broody, lurking and looming is nothing -new-. However, hearing him say it when he's not even in the room, that hurts. A lot. Is that all Stiles thinks of him? Is there nothing -redeeming- in the way the human sees him!?

"Stiles." Boyd growls the name, injecting just a little bit of a hard edge to it, and it has the desired effect. Even all the way down here, Derek can hear the click of Stiles' jaws clacking shut at the sound of his name in that authoritative way. From the outside, saying Stiles name in a way that sounds a lot like shut up probably seems rude and cruel, but even Stiles has come to appreciate how it manages to cut him off during a tangent. How it anchors and centres him.

"Right. Sorry. What did you want to talk about, big guy?" Stiles turns away from the window, his silhouette disappearing. The movement is followed by the soft squeak and shuffle of his desk chair, and the Alpha finds himself tensing a little. There is no danger here! Stiles is in his own home, surrounded by his very capable packmates, but not being able to see him suddenly has Derek on edge. -Worried- about him. There is no logic to the feeling, but he cannot seem to chase it away.

"You." Stiles yelps, shocked, and the chair squeaks again as the human moves around in it. Derek stumbles away from his lean against the tree, tensed and ready to leap up to the window if there is a reason to do so. Again, he knows that he can trust the pack around Stiles but he's still tensed and ready.

"Me?"

"Yes. You." Silence slowly descends on the room and the Alpha can picture Stiles in there. Can visualize the human's leg jumping up and down. Jiggling and shaking as he tries to wait the silence out without breaking it. Anyone who knows him, knows that it is a losing battle. Sooner or later, he will break the silence. It's inevitable.

"... okay. Care to elaborate?" Finally, after nearly five minutes of oppressive quiet, Stiles explodes with words. Boyd jerks where he is standing, his silhouette seeming almost to shiver before he turns to face Stiles completely.

"If I have to." Derek snorts at those words, hand flying up to cover his face. He goes stock still, waits to see if Boyd has been alerted to his presence. When nothing happens, he forces himself to relax by increments until he is standing loosely once more.

"Well, if we're gonna talk about me, you kinda need to -talk-, big guy. Come on. Out with it, babe!" Derek can feel a muscle somewhere in his hand jump at Stiles words, though he is resolutely refusing to analyze which word made it happen. 

"Okay." After a few moments of hesitation, Boyd turns so that he's facing the window at profile. This doesn't really surprise the Alpha. It's easier that way. Because one of the hardest things in the world, can be trying to lay something on the line when facing Stiles dead on. He may be human, he may be young, but there is something inherently intimidating about him. The Alpha still can't quite place his finger on what it is, though. "So. I'm working late tomorrow night. Want to come skating?" 

Derek shoves a hand against his mouth. So hard that it -hurts-. He can feel his lips swell some, because he's pressing so hard. Doing every thing in his power not to growl, snarl, roar, or just holler at Boyd from down here. So many options that he shouldn't want to take, but does. 

"Oh, wow. Yeah, sure. I mean, it was fun the last time. Me and Isaac have talked about going before, but we never had the time. I know him and Lydia are free tomorrow. And so's Danny." Stiles jumps up, out of the chair, evident by the sound of the back of it colliding with his desk. Derek can hear him bouncing on his feet, can hear his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I'll even keep everyone busy so that you can talk to Erica alone. I know it must be hard, getting her attention for a moment, but this is the -perfect- time, Boyd. I will totally be the best wingman ever, I promise!"

Boyd's silhouette straightens and stiffens. His shoulders roll back a little bit, and Derek can feel the mortification and disappointment all the way outside. Though, he would just about bet his Camaro that Boyd is still as stoic and unreadable as ever, outwardly.

"Right. I wanted to invite everyone." Lie. "And definitely asked you to come .. to be my wingman." Big lie. "Thanks, Stiles, this is exactly what I need." The biggest lie yet! Like, all of the lying wrapped into one! Boyd's heart is going crazy with every word! "Later." The bulky werewolf practically runs from the room, despite managing a long-legged stride rather than an open jog. Derek breathes in, forces the fresh air deep into his lungs and uses it to ground himself. 

"Sure, Boyd. Just have someone text me the time, and I can pick up anyone who needs a ride." Stiles shuffles across the room until he's standing in front of his window. After a moment of silence, once Boyd has managed to end up back downstairs, Stiles leans forward until his forehead is resting against the curtain-covered glass, trapping the material. Derek finds that he wants to leap up to the second story. Wants to press his forehead against the window until nothing but that thin pane of glass and sheet of material separates them. He banishes the urge instantly.

"Derek!" The Sheriff's voice booms out from the house, causing the Alpha to trip over his own feet. By some miracle, he manages to catch himself before he ends up face first on the ground, kissing grass and dirt. He straightens himself out, ruffling a hand through his hair. "Dinner!" The older man calls out again, and when Derek looks up, Stiles has yanked himself away from the window and is striding toward his door. So, he quickly skulks to the back door, slipping inside before Stiles can make it down the stairs. He makes sure he never looks in Boyd's direction, though he's not sure if it's for the beta's self preservation ... or his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I'm not as happy with this one as I am the others. Boyd has always been hard for me to write. >.<


	5. Danny

* * *

Apparently, the road to being a better Alpha is paved with ice cream. That is to say, Derek finds himself staring at a nondescript red brick building with a sickeningly 'cute' cartoon-y sign plastered above the double doors. It depicts a wide-eyed ice cream cone with a smile that is nothing less than creepy, to Derek. Like, he has no -idea- how Stiles can call -him- creepy when something like -this- exists. And in TOWN, no less. This cracky, crazy little cartoon-y cone is creepier than -Peter-, okay? That's saying something!

He suppresses a shudder as best he can before he forces himself to cross the street and step inside. He feels dirty just touching the door, let alone actually entering the establishment. However, his poor Isaac supposedly needs ice cream to survive whatever newest teenage angst he's facing, and what kind of pseudo-father would he be if he denied him this? (A pretty crap-tastic one, says the voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Stiles.)

The inside is worse than the outside. It looks like a rainbow threw up all over the floors, walls, and ceilings. He counts no less than 11 different colors splashed in haphazard, random patterns all over the room and it makes him feel sick and dizzy. It throws his equilibrium off and is inner wolf has his hackles raised in anger and annoyance. There's a large display case along the back and left hand wall, with tables and a few booths strewn across the center of the room and the left hand wall. Derek huffs in agitation and then curses under his breath.

Because he stood across the street for so long, dreading this, that he has forgotten what Isaac even wanted. Though, if it hadn't been so complicated and over the top, it wouldn't have so easily been forgotten. What happened to the days when you went and ordered a chocolate scoop or a root beer float? (He suddenly feels hella old for having a thought like that. It makes him sound as if he's 63 and about to yell at kids about how harder things were back in his day.)

_' Okay. I may have forgotten what you wanted. Don't ask. Just .. text me what you want, okay? '_

He stares at the phone as if it has personally offended him, before he turns and looks around the shop. There's a family crowding around the case, arguing over each other as they try to decide what they want. In hopes of retaining some small semblance of sanity, he turns and heads for a table while he waits for a text in reply. The longer he can put this awkward humiliation off, the better.

"Man, I haven't been here in almost a year, Danny! It was a good idea." Stiles voice drifts from the opening door and punches Derek right in the ears. He can feel a near hysterical laugh trying to bubble up and out and he clenches his jaws until his teeth ache with it. Stiles once asked him if the regenerative healing properties would encompass any teeth he might break while grinding and he had simply scowled the younger man into silence. At the moment, however, he finds himself seriously considering the question. He's actually -curious- if it would work that way or not. (He's going to chalk that up to the same madness that nearly made him laugh.)

"No problem, Stiles. You've been going nonstop, I just figured it would be a good idea to take a break, you know?" Danny's voice is warm and welcoming, not a tone often associated with his interactions with Stiles and it immediately puts Derek on the defensive. (Eventually, he is going to have to admit to himself -why- it is making him feel this way. Today, probably not that day, though.) "Stiles ... you've been pushing yourself too hard. I'm worried about you." Danny smells ... of sunflowers and pineapple .. of spice and citrus and so many other scents that all equal three things; affection, arousal, and concern. -One- of those, he can handle coming from the Hawaiian .. and it sure isn't arousal or affection. 

"It's really sweet, that you're worried, Danny, but there's nothing to worry about, okay?" Derek glances over his shoulder, watching as the two teens step fully into the shop. Danny has reached up and placed his hand on Stiles, curved gently against his shoulder and Derek wants to whine. Because Stiles seems to push up, into the hand as if he is touch-starved and that leaves an acrid taste coating his tongue. There is absolutely -no reason- that Stiles should be feeling that way, because the pack should extend their touch to him all the time. They are, after all tactile creatures. (And no matter what the Alpha may or may not be feeling at the moment, he would rather have his pack willing to touch and offer comfort when it is needed!)

"Stiles." The affection and arousal are still simmering deep in the boy's scent, but anger and concern are more overpowering now. Derek stealthily tries to turn back around, to put his back to the teens so that he doesn't draw their attention. "You -just- got done telling me that you have had something like ... seven hours of sleep in -four- days! You're lucky you're not -sick- at the moment! So don't try and sell me this BS about how you're doing just fine, okay? Because you're really, -really- not, and I'm worried." Derek's entire body goes cold all over. The kind of cold that comes from an ice bath or a winter downpour. 

Stiles has been suffering and he hasn't bothered to tell him? His claws appear without him realizing it. He only becomes aware when he feels a curl of wood push up, between a claw and the pad of his finger. He has gouged the wood in several spots and it doesn't look like the claws are going away any time soon. Does Stiles not trust him? Does he think his Alpha will get mad at him, or think less of him, over whatever is going on here? His heart beat elevates in a painful way and he wishes that he could curl up in the booth and just forget every thing for a few minutes. Because if Stiles thinks this little of him, where the hell has he gone so wrong!?

"Ugh. Okay. Yes. I -may- have mentioned something about not sleeping, but come on, man! You choose -now- to actually listen and or remember something I've told you? How is that fair, Dan-o?" The whine is meant to be playful, but it really, -really- isn't. In fact, Stiles is putting off some very negative vibes that has Derek's claws growing just a little bit sharper. Gouging the wood a little bit deeper. Every instinct in him is saying to launch himself out of the booth and attack Danny for what he has done that has angered Stiles so deeply. His scent is radiating anger, disbelief, and wrath of all things. In fact, Derek almost expects to see -Stiles- launch himself at Danny and he cannot help but wonder -why- his friend is reacting to the other human this way. They are friends of a sort, and Danny is showing concern. So why the anger?

"Stiles --"

"No, Danny. See, I'm trying really hard to understand something here, dude. This is -not- the first time I've done this .. not even the first time you've -known- I've done this .. but this time you choose to show that you care? Come on." His tone has become cool and a little clipped, and Derek can't help himself. He glances over his shoulder and winces at the blank look Stiles is giving the confused Hawaiian. "We're up." The agitated teen points this out before Danny can actually reply to any of what was probably supposed to be rhetorical. 

He turns back around, leans forward to press his forehead against the cool wood of the table top. He feels feverish and worn out. In fact, he's pretty sure that he could go home and go to sleep for the next day and a half at this point. However, this isn't about him and he knows it. He is here for Isaac, he owes it to his beta. And he should probably do something about Stiles. Address the fact that he's apparently skipped a -lot- of sleep at this point. However, he can't. Because Stiles hasn't actually -come to him- with this problem. He eavesdropped the condition and he just can't confront the human over that. Because of all of them, Stiles is the one that values his privacy the most. Stiles is the one that shuts down the hardest when presented with something he doesn't want to deal with. (Even more so than Derek does, actually. A fact that surprised pretty much everyone.)

Slowly, he controls his breathing. Forces his mouth to lay open so that he isn't scenting the air with every breath. He counts down the minutes, ticking them off in his head. Silently, he is praying that they leave as soon as they have their order, because he needs time to figure this out. Time to try and find the best way to approach his friend and find out what's been happening.

"Anyway, I really wanted to thank you for coming out with me, Stiles. The movie was great. I still can't believe you agreed to go out." And there go the claws all over again! They dig into the wood once more and he drags them down, into his lap. Curls his claws into his hands until he can feel the tacky gumminess of blood slowly oozing against his palms. So. One of them -finally- succeeded, huh? Of course it would be the one that everybody loves. The one with dimples and sunshine radiating off of him. This wounds Derek deeper than he thought it would. (After all, he has told himself that he has made peace with the fact that eventually, Stiles would figure it out. That he -had- to understand people were asking him out. But still, it hurts, after the whole Miguel thing, that Stiles chose -Danny- to go out with.)

"What? Pfft! Of course I agreed to hang out, Danny." Wait. Back it UP! "You know I'm always willing to spend time with a friend, dude. Though, it seems really weird that every one else was busy. I thought at least Lydia or Isaac would've been able to make it." Derek sits up so quickly that his back actually cracks softly. _Hang out_ ... _with a friend_ ... okay, then. Maybe he gave Stiles a little more credit than he should have? Because those words right there suggest that the teen doesn't think a movie and ice cream classifies as a date.

"Uhm .. why on earth would anyone else have tried to make it, Stiles? Would've been rude if any of them had crashed." Derek winces where he sits, his claws slowly retracting from his palms. He nearly brings one of the bloody expanses up to smack himself in the forehead. Because Stiles, as smart as he is, can be an idiot sometimes! The little fool thinks he's hanging out with his friend, while Danny thinks they are on a date. How had such a miscommunication happened?? 

"Why would that be ... rude ...." Derek can actually -feel- it. The moment that Stiles finally clues in to what is going on here. He shifts just enough that he can hunch over and glance around to the side, taking in the sight of the two teens standing together in the middle of the ice cream parlor. "Oh ... **_OH_**! Danny .." The teen sighs, scrubs a hand over his head and shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. He even lightly scuffs the tip of his shoe across the tiled floor as he stares down. His cheeks are flame red, the tips of his ears barely tinged the same. His hands are wrapped around a cup, the scent of root beer and ice cream making Derek's mouth water despite the situation. 

"Danny .. I .." Stiles huffs a breath and then straightens up. He squares his shoulders and plasters on a sheepish, apologetic smile. "I think .. we both read this situation wrong, okay? This .. it isn't a date. If I had known that you were asking me out and not just to hang out .. sorry, man, but I would've said no." Danny's eyes have gone wide. In fact, it would be comically so if Derek couldn't hear the heavy thudding of his heart, couldn't smell the astonishment and horror wafting off him in waves. That kinda sucks the funny right out of every thing. "You're cool and every thing, but I don't really ... think of you in that way?"

"What .. but .. you were -always- asking me if gay guys find you attractive! You -stare- at me, Stiles! I asked if you wanted to go out to a movie and grab some ice cream. I don't think I could've been more clear if I tried!" The Hawaiian teen is practically panting now, vibrating with his pent up emotions. Stiles winces and sways back a little, trying to put more space between them without appearing to.

"Well, actually, yeah. You could have -called- it a date, Danny. And yeah, I've asked that, but how does that automatically translate to me wanting to date you? I've asked Scott if he finds me attractive, too. It was always a subjective question, dude, not a thinly veiled attempt at asking for a date or something. I mean, I'm flattered and every thing, but to be truthful .. there's really only -one- person I would want to ask me out." Derek is suddenly boneless.

He feels as if someone has cut an invisible string and he deflates where he sits. If he hadn't clenched his hips, he would've slid right off the seat and ended up under the table, folded in on himself. It's a near miss.

So, there is only one person that Stiles can be referring to, right? Because every one knows. He has had an 'epic' crush on a single girl for as long as he has understood what the word means, so of course, he is still holding out for her, for some reason. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, leaves him feeling sick to his stomach and clammy all over. 

"Oh. Right. Of course. I shouldn't have .. I didn't even think that .. I .. I should go. Yes. That is a thing. That I should do. Excuse me." Danny turns and actually jogs form the ice cream parlor, leaving Stiles standing there. Looking so very sad and worn down. Derek wants to do something. He wants to be a good Alpha. Wants to go over there, wrap Stiles in his arms and tell the teen that Danny will forgive him. That it's not his fault he didn't understand the situation and that he has the right not to feel that way about the other teen.

He does none of those things. He sinks deeper in his seat, curls into himself as much as he can, while trying not to curse some poor girl that doesn't deserve it. After a few moments, he hears Stiles quietly leaving the shop and he feels relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Danny! Just a few more chapters to go!


	6. Lydia

* * *

This is worse than trying to sit through lacrosse practice for his betas. Much, -much- worse. Because he can hear them. All of them. The soccer Moms that gossip so openly about all the different positions they would like him to take them in. The fact that no less than seven Moms have mentioned how badly they want to spread it for him in the back of their -family vehicles- has him feeling sick all over. They see bad boy looks, nice sized biceps, and start smelling so heavily of arousal that he can barely smell anything else.

Then, there are the Dads. The single and married men that breathe heavier and smell so spicy that the Alpha is truly struggling not to gag on it. And even if they don't -say- anything disgusting or suggestive like the Moms, they leer at him. As if it is somehow subtle the way they stare at him, taking him in like they can accurately picture him without his clothes on. Whatever.

Of course, worse than those that want to screw him into next century, are those that are still completely convinced that he is a killer. A murderer ready to pounce on their families and rob them of life. That is something he will never forgive Scott for. Both teens had explained the situation, and from what Derek gathered, Scott had 'jumped the gun' in both situations. Yes, Stiles had thought Derek responsible for his sister's murder just as much as Scott had, but it had been Scott that called the cops on Derek. And in the school, it had been Scott that decided it was okay to blame Derek for every thing because he thought the werewolf was dead. Yes, Stiles went along with it, but it hadn't been his idea. 

Maybe, one day, he will be able to forgive Scott. (He is not expecting -anything- like that to ever happen, however. Because the two of them cannot coexist in the same space long enough for any forgiveness or closure to happen.) 

"Stiles. I need to speak with you." His ears zero in on the word STILES and he immediately recognizes Lydia's voice. His instides tie into a knot and begin to roil. His palms are suddenly clammy and cold and his throat feels a little constricted. This is what he has been waiting for, of course. He knew that this would happen, because Stiles deserves it. No matter how much it feels like he is being gutted, ripped in half, Stiles **DESERVES** this! They are friends, he is a packmate, the Alpha has to be happy for him. (He will fake it as hard as he must until it's true!)

"Huh? Oh, heya, Lydia. What's up, girl?" Stiles steps off of the main path leading from the front of the building and the diminutive redhead follows on his heels. Even if Derek doesn't want to see or hear this, he feels a singular moment of pride at the fact that for what he is sure is the first time in his life, Stiles has Lydia following after him. Yeah, Stiles really deserves this. 

"Studying. You and me, tonight. Bring something delicious. My parents are gone." Stiles blinks slowly. Looks utterly confused for a whole minute before he carefully shakes himself out. Derek is even more confused than the human.

He isn't seeing, hearing, or smelling -anything- that suggests Stiles understands what is happening here. There is no look of surprise, happiness, or even -understanding- on Stiles gorgeous features. Instead, he looks slightly perplexed and a little pinched. 

Derek can not hear the racing of his heart. It's not even running it's usual jack rabbit beat. There's a surprisingly slow, steady rhythm to the muscle and it's starting to scare the werewolf. Just a little, but still. There is genuine concern there!

And last, but certainly not least ... Stiles doesn't smell right. Yes, there's the usual scents of him, even the chemical jolt that makes Derek's nose twitch just a little bit if he concentrates on the smell too long. But there is no spice of arousal, sunshine of happiness, or even minty-lemon sweetness of surprise. Which leaves the werewolf assuming that he simply hasn't caught on yet. That he hasn't parsed what Lydia is actually suggesting/asking with her demands. Becase there is no mistaking that this is anything but a demand/instruction/order. And that rankles the Alpha in Derek a hell of a lot. Who does this girl think she is to be -ordering- Stiles to spend time with her!? Yeah, even he isn't so demanding, commanding, or brash as to try and order the human to spend time with him. (And he literally has a wolfish/wild nature!)

"Erm .. what? No offense, Lydia, but why on earth would I do that? We are the two smartest kids in this school. There is literally no reason we need to study together. There is not a single subject we are currently taking that we could help each other with." He snorts, seeming to find some kind of amusement in this entire situation. Derek does -not-. Lydia Martin, literally the person of Stiles dreams, is trying to be cute and coy in asking him out, and he doesn't get it.

Huh. Derek is actually feeling a little embarassment on his friend's behalf. So much so, that the werewolf almost starts to walk over so he can hit his friend with a metaphorical clue stick before he messes this all up! (Yes, personally, he wants Stiles to mess this up. He wants Stiles to blow any chance he has with his 'strawberry blond goddess,' but this isn't about what he wants. It's about what Stiles wants. He wants his Stiles happy, damn it!)

"Seriously." Lydia doesn't bother to punctuate the word as a question, and there is probably a reason for that. Something along the lines of her deciding that adding a question mark would be too taxing. Or maybe she simply expects Stiles to -get- her. And why wouldn't he!? He's been obsessed with her for -years-, after all. A fact the werewolf doesn't need to be reminded of.

"Yes, Lydia, seriously. We've never studied together before. I don't really see a reason to start now." The redhead huffs, her features pinking with anger and embarassment. Two emotions that Stiles seems to inadvertantly cause time and time again when people are asking him. Or generally showing any kind of attention to him, actually. Her shoulders square, her lips pursing into a smile that can be described as nothing less than feral and wild. She looks two seconds from biting into the human and Derek is ready this time. He instantly cages his wild side, making sure that he has complete control this time.

"Right, then. I should have listened when everyone else said the indirect approach didn't work. So, lets try this again, okay?" She steps right up into Stiles space, head tilted up so that she is looking at him through the coy tumble of her lashes and Derek hates her instantly. That is a 'ploy' that he can't really use. Coy is not something he is capable of, damn it! Shouldn't that count as cheating? (Remember, Derek, this is about STILES, not YOU!) "Stiles, we are going to have a date tonight. You are going to come over to my house, because my parents are gone for the night. We are going to enjoy whatever you bring over to eat, and then we are going to make out. Am I making myself clear?" She tosses her hair flirtatiously over her shoulder, and Stiles still looks dumbfounded. For about three seconds. 

The change, when it comes, is instantaneous. He stands straight, his eyes spark with anger and heat, and his scent becomes something strong and wild. Like burnt sugar and ozone. Derek sneezes but also leans further forward a little bit. Because there is something that says he -really- doesn't want to miss what's about to happen here.

"Yeah, how about no? I'm sure that's not a word you hear very often, but it's my answer. A big, huge, NO. Because I don't take commands very well. In fact, there is all of -two- people that can order me to do anything, and even then, I'm probably only going to obey about 40% of the time." (Lying liar that LIES! Derek would put that at about 15% if -he- is giving orders, and about 25% if the Sheriff is the one giving the orders.) "So yeah, my answer is no. Hell, I'll even be nice and say no, thank you. Have a good afternoon, Lydia." He turns on his heel, hikes the strap of his backpack up, and heads toward his jeep. He passes a few feet in front of Derek and doesn't even seem to notice the Alpha there. Ouch. Just OUCH! Every other person in the parking lot has noticed him, mostly in vocal, disgusting ways, and Stiles walks right past him as if he doesn't even exist.

The Alpha tucks his shoulders down, barely conscious of the fact that he is making himself seem smaller because his brain seems to have gone completely off-line. The world no longer makes any sense. This is not a statement he is making lightly in his mind, because he can feel his vision eclipsing at the edges. Filling with little spots of color as his chest constricts.

Stiles turned Lydia Martin down. If he repeats it enough, maybe his brain will reboot and this will all become clear once more. There is no reality in which Derek thought Stiles Stilinski would refuse a date from Lydia Martin. He himself even -said- that he would only accept a date from one person. He told -Danny- that, and there was no way in hell that Stiles would lie to the Hawaiian. (Personally, Derek doesn't really understand this odd belief that Danny is somehow the Holy Grail of all things Good and that no one treats him in any way but sweetly, lovingly, and with the utmost care. Like, is he a rare breed of supernatural creature that the Alpha has never heard of, because this belief in him seems to be surreal in every way.) Besides, his heart had remained steady and true the entire time he had spoken on the topic, so he had meant it.

Then why in the world did he turn down the one true love of his life? (And yeah, thinking of Lydia in that way makes Derek feel nauseous.) This is a mystery he has no chance of cracking on his own, but he cannot fathom trying to find the words to question Stiles without messing up royally and causing some kind of fight between the two of them. Even if they have managed to move past their phase of caustic interaction, he is not so foolish as to think that they will never fight again. And this? This just -screams- fight in the making.

He snarls and turns, throwing himself into his car and curling up behind the wheel. It takes him a few deep breaths to calm down and remember that he is here for a -reason-. He waits as patiently as he can for Isaac to exit the building.


	7. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The final chapter! Thanks to every one that has commented, kudo'ed, and subscribed to this! I had so much fun writing this!

* * *

Make sense. Make sense. Make SENSE!

Derek is pacing. The back and forth motion is keeping him in control of his wolf, despite the fact that he is teetering on the edge of going momentarily feral. Seriously, every other step feels as if he's going to wolf out and take off running .. and he hasn't the foggiest where he would actually end up! The possibilities are a little too much for him to risk, so it is better if he stay as calm as he can. (And yes, he is aware that he should -always- exercise as much control as possible, but now is not the easiest time to put forth logic!)

It has been an hour and a half since he picked Isaac up at school and witnessed the impossible; Stiles Stilinski turning down a date from the great Lydia Martin. Even speaking the words in his mind makes him feel dizzy and uncertain. And no, he's not being dramatic. Because Stiles turning Lydia down has pretty much challenged a part of Derek's world. The part where he is damn well sure that his wanting anything more than friendship from the beautifully spastic motormouth will result in some sarcastic, bitingly snarky remark followed by laughter. Lots and LOTS of laughter. 

So. Stiles wants to date -someone-, but it's no one in the Pack. Not even the girl he has been obsessed with for most of his days. Who could it be!? The only one he has not seen approach Stiles and ask for a date, is Scott. But that causes a cognitive dissonance that sparks like currents of electricity through him. Because even if the human had not told Danny that there had never been anything like that between him and Scott, Derek would know the truth of it. One had only to watch the two interact to know that they are brothers. With no chance of anything else. 

Who could it be!? The only one missing from this entire thing is not eligible. 

(Stop kidding yourself! You're the Alpha, damn it! No amount of pretending, putting it off, or refusing to acknowledge it, is going to change the truth! Logically, there is another person that Stiles interacts with on a regular basis. You. YOU! Oh yeah, and YOU!!)

He stops his pacing and throws his head back. He roars his displeasure to the ceiling, feeling the foundation shake and shiver from the power of his emotional release. After a few more rounds of pacing, he's had it. He is officially -done- for now. He takes off. Maybe, if he's lucky, a run will help cool him off and calm him down.

* * *

In absolutely no way surprising to him, the Alpha finds himself standing in Stiles' back yard. The exact same spot he had been standing when he eavesdropped on Boyd trying to ask the human out, though he's not actually thinking about that right now. His mind is a jumbled mess of conflicting emotions and contradicting thoughts. He has covered the spectrum from wanting to running, from taking to keeping as far away as possible.

Is he allowed to be selfish in this? Is he allowed to take a breath and go after what he wants? Maybe he's supposed to be noble, though. Maybe he's supposed to take a step back and wait. Because no matter what he's feeling about Stiles, the human has to be comfortable with this. Can the Alpha approach one of his betas and ask this of him, or would it be seen as an abuse of power? Should he wait to see if Stiles would approach him?

But no, because if he was going to, he would've already, right? Damn it! His upper lip lifts in a snarl, baring one elongated tooth before he forces it back to it's usual length. These second guessing questions are getting him nowhere! He chuffs, shakes his head to clear it of doubt and leaps up to the second story. He crawls along the eaves to the window, perching there long enough to peer inside. Stiles is sitting at his computer desk, though his laptop is closed. He appears to be staring at the wall, sort of just glazed over and lost.

This suddenly seems like a terrible, selfish idea. He turns, prepared to leap back down to the ground.

"What's up, sourwolf?" The sudden sound jolts him and he nearly flails right off the roof! He barely manages to catch himself, turning back to the window with wide, surprised eyes. Stiles hasn't moved. He's still sitting, facing away from the window, though the longer Derek remains squatting there, the more Stiles' shoulders seem to tense. Eventually, he swivels in his chair, practically glaring at the window expectantly.

So, the Alpha carefully lifts the window and slides gracefully inside. (Yes, gracefully. And damn straight that is on purpose! Even if Stiles hadn't seen the near pratfall, he is going to make his best impression possible, given the thoughts he is currently entertaining.) He brushes himself off, looking around the room before he lowers himself to the foot of Stiles bed. It puts him on a somewhat even level with the teen, but also puts some much needed distance between them. Because he's pretty damn sure that crawling up, into Stiles lap and kissing his breath away is -not- the proper way to begin asking for a date. Fun, but not proper.

After a moment of hesitation, he leans forward. Balances his elbows on his knees and stares at the floor as if it's the most fascinating thing in existence.

".. Derek?" The teen prompts and the Alpha nearly flails again. Thankfully, he manages to keep perfectly still.

"So .. how did you know that I was out there?" It's not exactly the ideal opener or anything, but it's the first thing that popped to mind. The first thing that he could blurt that didn't start with the words 'go out with me so that I can lick your face,' or something equally as embarrassing. 

There's a chance that his own awkwardness might be killing him a little inside.

"Huh?" Stiles shakes his head and the glazed look has finally left him fully. "Oh. Right. That. I, uh .. I might be slightly ... overly attuned to you." The teen blushes profusely, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before he manages to slide down a little further in the chair. "I tend to know when you're lurking these days, Alpha-Mine." Alright, then .. forget licking his face. Derek wants to go straight to asking if they can go on a date .. that won't end ... until they are married, preferably with half a dozen cubs under foot. All because of those two little words .. Alpha-Mine. Something primal unfurls and mewls at the words, a rumble threatening to start in his chest.

Needless to say, he shuts that right the hell down! Mewling like a feline is far too undignified for a werewolf, damn it!

"Uhm." The sound ejects from the werewolf, his eyes narrowed as he continues to stare at the floor. "Okay." Well, off to a good start, Derek! (That sarcasm sounds suspiciously like Stiles, but what else is knew? His inner snark always sounds like the teen these days.)

"Right. Lets not dwell on this awkwardness, okay? So, what are you doing here, Derek?" The teen sounds so tired, and Derek is once again reminded of the fact that his friend isn't sleeping. That Danny has been worried, and he should be, too. He licks at his bottom lip, trying to force all of his thoughts down into a simmer so that he doesn't feel so overwhelmed. As much as he wants to ask .. he can't, can he? Not when there's something so worrisome happening with his packmate.

"You're not sleeping. At least, nowhere near enough. What's going on, Stiles? And no, Danny didn't tattle or whatever you might be thinking. Talk to me." The last words sound suspiciously like a command, an Alpha order, but Stiles doesn't seem to notice. When does the human -ever- notice one of Derek's orders? Especially if he doesn't -want- to. His state of selective obliviousness can be a royal pain in the ass. 

At the top of his vision, he can see Stiles flinch back. The soft squeak of his desk chair accomapnies the movement and Derek is currently calculating how quickly he can throw himself out the window and run away before Stiles will understand what is happening. 

"Ah, right. Because -that- would be why you're here. Of -course- it would. Because there isn't possibly a different reason you could be sitting on my bed after this past week. No reason. What. So. Ever." Every word has become almost cool and somewhat venomous by the end, leaving the Alpha feeling flushed and confused all over. He's showing an interest in Stiles' well-being and the human is getting pissed? Seriously, what the hell, man!?

"Stiles --"

"Nope. Just -nope-! I cannot -believe- I actually thought that this would be a possibility! Because of -course- it isn't. I'm a grade A moron!" The Alpha growls at those words. Deep, chest rumbling, lip curling GROWLS at Stiles calling himself a moron. The human doesn't seem to register the complaint, though. Instead, he continues on with his rant. "I thought, for sure, when Isaac asked me out, that it was basically just a fluke, you know? The fact that you were there to hear it was pretty much humiliating, but whatever. I could handle it. I'm sure you thought it was amusing, watching me flounder for a way to turn him down without hurting his feelings. Because if there had been tears, I would've made a fool of myself trying to make it better. It's -Isaac-, after all. But then Erica happened, and Boyd .. but when -Greenberg- asked, you actually started to wolf out! I thought .. well, I thought that meant something, but of course not. What, it was just the fact that some asshole outside of the pack did it, right? I mean, there was no reason for you to care beyond that, I guess." He snorts almost self-deprecatingly and Derek can feel his teeth elongating. Can feel his claws slowly unsheathing because he is so sick and tired of the human saying bullshit like this!

"Stiles!" Again, the human barrels on as if his Alpha hasn't said a damn thing!

"But come -ON-! How did you not get it when I told -Lydia- no!? LYDIA, Derek!" Stiles leaps to his feet and Derek recoils slightly at the action. Or, well, he would call it recoiling when it really just looks like he straightens up to watch the human begin to pace the space between the desk and the bed. The werewolf can feel the heat pouring off the human as he moves and it is intoxicating. It makes his natural scent waft up in undulating waves. If this were a cartoon, there would be the obligatory fingers of scent tickling his nose and beckoning him closer. (Way too much time around Stiles if he is thinking about cartoon stupidity!)

"Look, is it the Danny thing that messed it all up? Because I -swear-, I didn't realize what happened, Derek! I honestly thought the entire pack was going to hang out and then everyone messaged me -after- I was at the theater with Danny to say they couldn't come. I didn't know it's because they thought I was on a -date- with him. Please tell me that didn't ruin everything!" The teen is whimpering now. These soft, heartrending little breathy sounds that tug at Derek's soul and make him want to react in a multitude of ways. Coddle him close, nuzzle along his shoulder until he quiets. Tuck him under his chin and rumble until the whimpering is soothed away. 

"Stiles ..."

"No, no, of course it's not. Because this is me, isn't it? Pale, skinny, sarcastic, defenseless Stiles. The screw up. God, why do I always do this? First it was Lydia ... now you. Because the only ones I can ever manage to like, are so far out of my league that they may as well be an entire solar system away. This is just par for the -- eep!" The self abhorrence is cut short and replaced by a yelp of shock when Derek grabs the boy by the hips and yanks him down. Right into his lap. Trembling human hands grab Derek by the shoulders, finger tips digging into his leather jacket. Scrabbling for purchase as Derek's claws grip him at the hips, pin him against his hard body.

"STILES! If you don't shut up, I will bite you. And -not- in the -good- way." The words are a slow, deliberate growl, injected with a bit of his Alpha-voice. This time, Stiles -does- react to the Alpha. He shivers and whimpers with it. The sound going straight down Derek's spine to pool heat in his thighs. (Aided by the fact that Stiles is -squirming- in his lap and for once he isn't coming across as prey.) "If I -ever- hear you say this kind of bullshit again ... you are not defenseless or, damn it, -any- of the other stuff you said! Whoever is making you feel this way, needs their ass kicked. Repeatedly."

Slowly, Derek leans forward. Gently brushes the tip of his nose against Stiles', making sure he has the human's full attention.

"... you are so far out of my league it's not even calculable, Stiles." He whispers the words feather soft, afraid of spooking the human. (No. No, he's afraid of his Stiles agreeing, that he deserves so much better than the Alpha.) "You are ridiculously gorgeous, Stiles. I've been thinking about licking your face." He admits this with a soft nip to the human's jaw, feeling Stiles jolt and shiver in his lap. "I wanted to jump into your room and throw Boyd out the window when he tried to ask you out." He growls softly at that memory, eyes snapping closed. "And don't get me started on Greenberg. Disemboweling would've been too good for him. When I realized you were actually on a -date- with Danny, I hated him. I know that, supposedly, -no one- hates Danny, but I did. So much." He whines deep in his chest when he thinks about it. The thought of Stiles willingly dating a member of the pack had been so very painful. "When Lydia walked up to you .. I thought that was it. You talked about her nonstop, how she was the one for you .. and then you turned her down." It's -his- turn to become a little self-deprecating. "You turned my world on it's damn ear when you told her no, Stiles. I've spent so much time .. rationalizing all of this .. and then you went and did that." The Alpha whines deeper, chest vibrating with it as he leans forward and gently drags the curve of his lips against the smooth plane of Stiles' neck.

When the teen tips his head back and fully bares his throat to the werewolf, he snarls. Sets his human teeth to the cream-colored expanse and slowly presses forward. Watches the skin mold to his teeth as they sink deeper and deeper. Stiles once said he bruises like a peach and he meant it. Derek watches in fascination as the indentations begin to redden. Soon, they will yellow and then purple and the Alpha cannot fight how hard that revelation makes him. In less than an hour, his mark will be painted across Stiles' skin and everyone will know the werewolf had been there. Pressed against that delicious, vulnerable flesh.

"Stiles, will you please go out with me? Because I think I am going to lose my mind if you don't." He whimpers against the skin still pressed against his teeth, the tip of his tongue flicking out. Thrusting up, over the indentations before he forces himself to pull away. "I want to date you, Stiles Stilinski. I want to hold your hand, glare at -anyone- that looks at you like they can have you." He chuffs and leans back enough that he can look Stiles in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, his mouth glistening and hanging open just a little bit. God, all the thoughts that inspires! On instinct, he rocks upward. Pushes up, into Stiles where he rests on his lap. Feels the teen shudder and groan before he shakes his head to clear it. "I don't care how cliche and cheesy it is, Stiles. I want you to wear my jacket, let me call you baby, and let the entire world know that you're mine .. that I'm yours." 

Before he can say anything else, before he runs the risk of spewing more cliche desires, Stiles has pressed close. Pushed them chest to chest as shaking hands grab him at the jaws. Tilts his head ever so slightly so that their lips slot perfectly together. It's sweet, chaste, and robs him of breath instantly.

"God, yes. Please. Date the hell out of me, Derek Hale! I've only been waiting for a -year- for you to notice me, dude." Derek feels boneless and light as a feather. He tips his head back, reluctantly pulls free of the kiss that made his toes curl and howls. He doesn't care that he's inside. Doesn't give a damn that the neighbors will hear and assume any number of erroneous things. He howls his satisfaction to the heavens! Howls for his ancestors to hear that he has found a mate. Sure, they still have so much to talk about. Dates to be had, a future to be eased into, but right now? He really doesn't care!

Stiles Stilinski is -his-. He will challenge -anyone- that thinks differently.

****

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Now that this is done, I am thinking about doing a second part. A sequel that will be from the POV of each pack member as they stumble across the two on their dates. Dunno yet.


End file.
